I paused halfway down the stairs, box clutched tightly against my chest, forcing myself to arrange my expression into something that wouldn’t immediately alarm my children before I’d had any chance to explain things properly.
I told the older kids I needed them to watch the younger ones for a while, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage.
Then I sat by the front window, watching the street, waiting.
Marshal Faraday arrived exactly fifty-two minutes later, a dark sedan pulling into the driveway, two people stepping out, one in a suit, one in plain, practical clothing.
She introduced herself properly at the door, badge held up for me to examine closely.
“This is Marshal Owen Reyes,” she said, gesturing to her partner. “We’ll need to speak somewhere private, if that’s alright.”
I led them into the kitchen, the metal box sitting on the table between us.
Marshal Faraday was younger than her voice on the phone had suggested, sharp-eyed, moving with the kind of careful efficiency that made me feel simultaneously reassured and slightly unsettled.
Marshal Reyes hung back near the doorway at first, scanning the kitchen briefly before joining his partner at the table, a habit I suspected was automatic after years of similar situations.
“Before we begin,” Marshal Faraday said, “I want you to understand something clearly. Everything discussed in this room stays confidential, protected under federal witness security protocols, even now that your husband has passed.”
“Even though he’s gone?” I asked.
“Especially now that he’s gone,” she said. “His death doesn’t automatically dissolve the protections extended to people connected to him. That includes you and your children.”
She examined the documents carefully, occasionally exchanging a glance with her partner.
She handled each page almost reverently, the practiced movements of someone who understood exactly how much weight these particular papers carried for the family sitting across from her.
“This is definitely him,” she said finally, studying the old license. “Nathaniel Cross. Case number 4471, testimony given twenty-two years ago in the Ashgrove Trucking fraud trial.”
Marshal Reyes pulled out a tablet, tapping through several screens before turning it toward his partner, the two of them conferring quietly for a moment before Faraday continued.
“What actually happened?” I asked. “I need to understand this completely.”
